


Windows To The Soul

by KaenOkami



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Family Angst, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Weapon-Meister Reversal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaenOkami/pseuds/KaenOkami
Summary: Black Star is the child of the Star Clan, trained from birth to hunt souls. With his kusarigama blade and his well-stoked bloodlust, he swears that he will surpass not only God, but his father as well.Tsubaki has inherited the soul-reaching power of her ancestors, and is called on to use it to destroy the Clan's young heir.They both make a different call.





	Windows To The Soul

_“When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.”_  
\- Proverbs 11:2

~0~

He is the son of night wind and shadows, born under a blood moon. 

His existence is special: there has never been anyone like him before, but he may well be the first of a new breed of warrior. 

He is Black Star, heir to the Star Clan, wildness and bloodlust surging through his veins. One day, he will lead his people and claim unimaginable power. Desire for that day burns in every inch of him; he yearns to become leader of the hunt, to take this clan and soar upward into infamy, to become the stuff of legends. 

But tonight, he must make himself satisfied with the role of the child, the follower, the son. As always, he feels Shooting Star’s bitter gaze on the back of his neck, and pays it no mind. Once, the horned trident had been third-in-command of the Star Clan. Now that the leader’s firstborn was nearing manhood, growing into his birthrights, he has been delegated back to the ranks of the common clan, and must fall in line behind the child he has for years on end looked down upon. It stings the man’s pride to have to watch his back from now on, but he doesn’t care. This is what was always meant to be, and if his clanmates haven’t accepted that yet, then that’s their fault, not his.

He doesn’t understand how they _couldn’t_ accept it, though; his next step up feels as natural as anything. There’s his father, spearheading the family and the hunt, setting the merciless pace that they all must keep up with or die trying. There’s his mother at her husband’s right hand, eternally the keeper of order, the ice that tempers their fire. And then there he is, at his father’s left hand, a white-hot nebula being fiercely stoked and formed into a blazing star. He is the perfect fusion of them both, he has heard both brag: White Star loudly and boastfully over beer and dinner around the clan fire, Swift Star in moments of quiet, looking him in the eyes with her long, sharp-nailed fingers gripping his chin. 

Not only that, but he is the first of a new and glorious breed. His parents had once been human, he knows. They had once had other names, another family, in another place. But he also knows that that was another lifetime altogether, over and done with. He has never seen his parents fully human; even in his earliest memories, he remembers the points of White Star’s teeth, the spines on the back of Swift Star’s neck. All his life, he has watched them slowly but steadily evolving, soul by soul down their throats. 

(As for him...He has never been quite human himself, either.)

This night, too, he has yearned for, and would have accepted the minute he had understood what it would do to him, despite Swift Star’s strict order to the whole clan that he must wait. It is not his first hunt; ever since he had been old enough to grasp a knife in his hand without it shaking, he has known what it is to fight and to kill. But this is the night that he will claim his very first soul, and begin at last to feed the Kishin half of his blood. 

They move in silence, in their pack, leaping through the thick tree branches above and running the flat dirt paths below. Needle Village is surrounded by heavy growth: twisted trees blocking their way that they have to leap and slip through, all with wide leaves as big as his head that block the starlight, and thumb-length thorns that tug at his clothes and hair. Much of it has been clearly untouched for generations, winding walls of protection that had hidden this little village away from the rest of the world since times of old. But he can see, as they get closer to the place, the vines and trees that don’t yet spiral quite as high as the rest, with sturdier branches and the barely visible scars of shovels and spades around their bases. He can’t be sure, of course, but it looks to him like the villagers tried to learn from the last time his family graced their nothing little town with their presence, and done their frantic best to add to the forest’s natural defenses. 

He listens to the only sound in the air -- the slashing of limbs turned to blades, like a wind that comes on so suddenly and so strong you can hear it hissing in your ears, and the muffled clatter of branches cleaved in half tumbling to the ground and out of their path -- and smirks. They are an unstoppable force with no immovable object in sight; any effort to hold them back from what they want is futile. 

True to form, it’s only a few more uneventful minutes until they come within sight of their destination. His father lands his final leap on the highest branch that will support his weight, and he and his mother take their places one level below, still flanking him. One by one, he hears the rest of the clan stop, too, behind them and surrounding them. Swift Star, as always, is the picture of military stoicism and poise. She stands at attention, with only the slightest tilt of her head towards her husband and leader, icy eyes trained on his face in anticipation of his next command. He watches White Star intently as well, but not to obey -- to memorize.

His father stands as proud and tall as the great tree they perch on, crossing strong arms over his broad, unarmored chest, almost like a bear standing on its hind legs before charging. His eyes are open wide, and the white-hot stars of his irises burn with bloodlust, brighter and more fiercely than the small, malicious glints in the eyes of their clanmates. A bonfire, Black Star guesses, compared to the mere sparks that fly off it. His smirk widens, and the start of a laugh sneaks out. As endlessly powerful, brazen, and fearless as his father is, he is sure he can do better. What is a bonfire, after all, compared to the inferno that claims the world and turns it to ash?

White Star notices his son’s expression, and turns his head to look down at him. Even with the rough cloth scarf obscuring the lower half of his face, Black Star can still practically see the huge feral grin that stretches it into grotesque shapes and shows off every fang in his head. 

“Something funny, son?” he rumbles. His voice always comes either too low or too loud, from somewhere deep at the back of his throat. 

Like an animal puffing itself up to look bigger, Black Star tries on a grin of his own. He is acutely aware that his own small, dull teeth are laughable compared to the lion’s maw his father sports, or even the tiny but razor-sharp points of his mother’s canines. But that doesn’t matter. His own transformation, which he has fantasized about for almost fourteen years, will begin soon enough. 

“Yeah,” he retorts, more than loud enough for the whole clan to hear. “I bet I can bag more souls than you tonight, old man!”

Of their ranks, Swift Star alone is unamused, her expression unchanged. But it goes unnoticed. White Star throws back his head and lets out a raucous roar of laughter, while the mousy snickering of the clan is set off beneath it, and it all makes the hair on the back of Black Star’s neck stand up. 

“You really want to make a bet?” White Star says when he’s done. “You pull that off on your first soul hunt, and I’ll go ahead and make you head of the clan right then and there!”

His clanmates’ laughter rises into discordant guffaws at the very suggestion, but he just grins wider and laughs along, hoping that it keeps the heat from rising on his face. The tingling feeling like cold water down his neck and spine, that makes him want to squirm, is bad enough. 

Swift Star narrows her eyes, and her wrist jerks in the way it does when she’s itching to transform. “You waste our time. Is this hunt to happen tonight, or not?”

“Of course it is, dear.” White Star yanks off his scarf, revealing that he’s already slavering in anticipation. “Everyone - move out!”

It’s less than a quarter mile to the village, and now they all charge through the trees for it, as one. A short distance, but still his clanmates find the time to give him some big-brother-and-sisterly bucking up as they pass him. 

“Careful you don’t freeze on us again!” Evening Star crows, front-flipping over his head. “Bad time for a guy to start having performance issues!”

“Hope you can keep up!” says Morning Star brightly, clapping him on the back as she passes. 

Shooting Star forgoes any show of friendliness and just knocks into Black Star’s shoulder with his own, casually enough to look accidental but hard enough to throw him off balance for a moment. “Forget White Star,” he growls, pushing ahead. “You should worry about beating me before you have a _prayer_ of taking _his_ place.”

The tip of Swift Star’s long, pointed ear twitches at the noise, and it turns like a shepherd dog’s as she glares over her shoulder at her clanmate. Seeing her hand start to twitch again, Black Star quickly speaks up, mimicking the twins’ tone. “Hah! You’re right, Shooter! I can’t get as big as my old man all in one shot. I’ve got to start small first, don’t I? And you’ll do just fine!”

Shooting Star’s lipless mouth gnarls in displeasure, Swift Star gives a small nod of satisfaction, and both of them turn back away from him. Good. He doesn’t need his mother stepping in to fight his battles anymore, and he certainly doesn’t need his clanmate casting a shadow on his first great spotlight. 

Finally, they all burst from the treetops above Needle Village. From midair, he can see the particularly interesting features that give the place its new name: the steel spikes, twice as tall as he is, that pierce so ungracefully through all of the shabby wooden roofs. Anyone else trying to invade this way, it is clear to see, might very well end up skewered on them. Especially at night, when they’re barely even visible save for the glints of moonlight on the metal, it would be incredibly easy for some fool to drop soft-bits-first right into them in the dark. Considering that not much time at all had passed between his family’s first visit to this hole in the backwoods and these little renovations being put in place, he can only assume that the people of this village have taken the Star Clan for fools. 

As he falls through the air towards them, Black Star keeps his grin on, and twists his body. He lands full force on the smooth, curved side of a spike, and pushes off with both feet and all his strength. The fragile steel snaps clean in half under the impact, with a loud, ringing clang. 

The momentum pushes him faster down, towards the funny-looking thing in the village center. On a gleeful impulse, he thrusts his legs out, meaning to transform both feet into wide and heavy axe blades but only managing one. With his blade he slices the statue clean in half, with his foot he kicks the sun half clean off the winged half, sending the heavy stone flying right through the window and paper-thin front wall of a house. He stumbles a little when he finally lands on the ground, just a hair too slow to transform his blade-foot back, but the frightened shriek from inside the house is sweet enough that it doesn’t matter. 

Almost immediately, he can practically feel the village stir at once, a clamor rising not just in the one house but every single one. As if it’s not a village full of people at all but one thing, one organism, living and breathing and fearing at once. He guesses that’s an interesting thought, but one that doesn’t matter much in the long run. Once they consume this place, who will care how it existed? 

In the next second, his moment is soured somewhat by Lucky Star landing directly on top of him, nearly bowling him over; save for Black Star himself, the young weapon is the smallest and lightest of the family, and unlike their clanmates, he acts not out of malice but sheer exuberance. 

“Not bad, Black Star! But I saw you slip!” he crows. He shakes his spiky-maned head, but he’s still grinning with every single one of his teeth. “That just won’t _do_ for your big entrance! Here, you gotta try something like _this!”_

Lucky Star’s forearm promptly transforms into a grenade launcher, and he fires three rounds into the houses directly in front of them. A great wave of heat hits them both, blowing their hair back. The fire is quick to catch and spread, greedily consuming the old wood, crumbling stone, and cheap plaster. A crescendo of the entire village’s screams rises into the air with the billowing smoke, as the clan spreads with the fire. They dart into every path and corner, a pack of hunting dogs after frightened, scattering rabbits.

“Well! That was fast!” says Lucky Star, leaping off of Black Star’s shoulders and somersaulting to the ground like a trained monkey. “Don’t drag your feet anymore, Black Star, you’ll miss out at this rate!”

He runs off into the flames after a pair of fleeing villagers, and Black Star starts forward to find his own target. All of them seem like the sort of insignificant people with puny souls, no good for eating if his parents are to be believed, so he doesn’t suppose it matters much which he catches first. His clanmates’ blades and gun barrels shine beautifully in the firelight; he can hear his father’s roars, muffled with his mouth half-full, and see his mother’s arm-turned-katana in the distance, cleaving cleanly in half an enormous woman who had tried to rush her with a rock. The sight puts a new spring in his step, makes his own arm tingle to transform, and he moves faster -- 

And is abruptly stopped when something small but sharp strikes the back of his head. He spins around, trying for a glare as vicious as his father’s, withering as his mother’s. Who dares try to interrupt him on his big night?!

The glare that meets his is jarring in the sheer hatred it exudes. There’s a boy his age standing there, breathing hard and covered in ash, with a green bandana around his head and a sickle clutched in both hands.

“You Star Clan bastards!” the boy yowls, in a voice broken with rage. “Once wasn’t enough for you?! You had to come back and finish us all off?! What did we ever do to you?!”

Black Star snickers. This guy’s stance is all wrong, too hunched over and wide-legged, like a mad bull about to charge. And his sickle’s blade isn’t even sharpened right. A stupid hick weapon, for an even stupider kid. He lowers himself into a proper attack stance, extending one hand.

“Who cares? I think the real question is...What do you wanna do to me?”

The boy looks so outraged that Black Star _has_ to burst into shrieking laughter. “How dare you?! Do you have any _idea_ what we’ve -- _I’ll fucking kill you!”_ he roars, swinging the sickle back and rushing Black Star. 

_Yeah, right. You’ve got yours -- let me show you mine._

He stands still for a moment more, allowing the boy to get a few strides closer, before he lunges forward and bids his forearm transform. A sickle blade -- a true weapon, a sharp, wicked curve of gleaming, flawless silver -- flies out on a chain so fast it blurs. And before the boy has even begun to follow through on his first attack, it’s buried deep in the boy’s chest, cracking his ribs in half and seizing his heart like a fish hook. 

With his other hand, he grabs hold of the chain and yanks the boy off his feet, reeling him in. It’s harder work than reeling in a fish, the way his father had taught him to do when he was little. The boy is much louder, for one thing, screaming like the rest of his people, gurgling and choking on his own blood. And heavier too, it takes him a few seconds longer than anticipated to pull him in, close enough to let go of the chain and grab him by the collar, pulling and holding him right up to his own sharklike grin. This is a momentous occasion; he will settle for no less than having his triumphant face burned into this boy’s eyes, his last sight as everything goes dark.

He’s already dropped his weapon and gone weak, and within seconds he’s let out his strangled final gasp and gone limp on Black Star’s blade. He certainly hangs off the end like a dead fish, the glowing blue orb of his soul rising from the wound in his chest. With a flick of his chain-wrist, he throws the body to the dirt, and grabs the soul in his other hand. He is too excited to savor the moment, and crams the thing into his mouth the second his gloved fingers close around it. It’s like a thickly packed ball of gelatin, sour with fear. Bigger than he had expected, but not too big that he can’t force it down in one gulp.

Once it’s in his throat, it slides down fast, and immediately he feels a _surge_ through his body, like a shot of electricity straight into his veins. His skin shivers and stings like it’s about to rip right off him, and every muscle and sinew is on fire as they swell with new and devastating power. It only lasts for an instant, but already he is absolutely certain -- 

He wants _more._

Hungrily his eyes flick around the burning village, picking out the forms of the humans, dark and shapeless in the smoke and flames, still trying to scatter and escape. It occurs to him that this is no different than any other meal, really: fighting his elder siblings for every bite, and being left weak and empty if he doesn’t go fast enough or push hard enough. He can’t very well lose all the choicest bites to them, not when he’s just gotten started.

So again, Black Star runs. Is it his imagination, or is he even faster now? He spies three figures, one bigger than him and two much smaller, ducking into an alley that leads towards the forest, and gives chase. If they think they’re going to find refuge before he gets his blade into them, they’re _dead_ wrong. As he nears the mouth of the alley, out of the corner of his eyes he sees Thunder Star’s massive, thick-scaled form charging for it too. He doesn’t think, just leaps forward, launching himself the last few feet and kicking him full-force in the chest. He feels something crack under the sole of his boot, and Thunder Star flies into the corner of the nearest house, going straight through the wall and sending massive, burning chunks of debris crashing to the ground around him. 

Black Star doesn’t stick around to watch this happen. After the kick connects, he hits the ground running, tunnel vision fixing on the humans. He cannot see the individual faces, hear the pleas for mercy already starting, pick up on how the taller figure herds the smaller two in front of it, shielding them with its body. All he can think about is how good three souls at once are going to feel.

A long, pointed tongue flicks out of his mouth, and he tastes ashes and blood on the air.

~0~

She is the daughter of morning light and solid earth, a flower with no fragrance.

She is not the first, and gods willing, she will not be the last. She is simply the latest in a long and ancient line, with a grand tradition to uphold and a great responsibility on her shoulders. 

She is Nakatsukasa Tsubaki, second-born child. Though she will never be the clan’s heir apparent (that is Masamune’s birthright, as the eldest), she is the one who, by some quirk of genetics, has inherited the power that makes their people legendary among meisters. Someday, she will fully master it, and become the warrior that she is destined by blood to be. 

That day, however, is not today. 

“Tsubaki!” She has become used to hearing her name spoken like that, shouted in her father’s sharp reprimands. “Are you paying attention or not? You need to move faster!”

She barely heeds the warning in time to dodge Sanjuro’s palm strike, and feels the white-hot burn of his Soul Force ghost over her forearm. She is good at that, she thinks; predicting the patterns of an opponent, reading the movements of their eyes and body, and meeting them when they finally strike in just the right place. Ideally, though, the final step of that process is to turn the attack against them in a way that’s twice as devastating, and she has found that she still has trouble with that bit. She is tough-skinned and well-trained enough to endure a hit, and she enjoys the motions and sensations of combat. What she does not like, however, is causing another person pain, however minor. 

The next strike takes advantage of her half-second of hesitation to graze her shoulder, and she yelps, more from surprise than fear. For an instant, a hazy shadow darkens her father’s eyes, and Tsubaki has utilized her ability enough times to know exactly what he is experiencing, the surface thoughts and feelings that pass through and over their consciousness like river water. She knows, and understands, and it’s why she would never hold any harshness against him. 

Sanjuro recovers just as fast, and throws another punch at her. She jumps nimbly out of the way of this strike, and the next, and the next. Her brother may muse that her hesitant nature may prove to be a failing, somewhere down the line, but she agrees with everyone else, who say that patience is one of her shining virtues. She has no problem taking her time, waiting for just the right moment...Here!

Her father’s leg swings around in a blurringly fast roundhouse kick, and Tsubaki deftly palms it aside and lunges. Her first lessons in combat had not been about forms or exercises, but about the human body, its strengths and its weak points alike. Even before she had fought her first real opponent, she had known exactly where to strike in order to take them down as fast as possible, with the least amount of pain. She summons the white-hot burn of her soul’s power into her palms -- severely diluted, of course; her father is tough but he’s not unbreakable, and not exactly _young,_ either -- and delivers two quick strikes to Sanjuro’s heart and solar plexus.

Immediately, his body shoots backwards in the air, as if some enormous being had snagged him and yanked him across the back yard. To his credit -- or, perhaps, to her own detriment -- he recovers just as easily as she’d landed the hit, his sandaled feet digging into the loose dust and dirt and letting him slide into a steady stop at the other end of the yard. Panting somewhat, something Tsubaki decides she will count as a small victory, he straightens and signs for the match to end, which halts his daughter’s attempt at a follow-up charge in its tracks. 

She moves reflexively into a resting stance, standing at attention, and waits for her father’s appraisal. For her part, she believes that her performance has been improving. However, she knows she need not speak her mind just yet. With those two strikes, she had shared enough of her feelings already, and felt the traces of her father’s own satisfaction, even if Sanjuro’s dark eyes are unreadable as they regard her.

“Fairly well done, Tsubaki,” he says. “You are making steady progress, with both your combat skills and your harnessing of Soul Force. However...I am concerned that those may not yet be enough for this mission of yours. I’ll ask again: are you certain that you are up for the task that Shibusen has requested of you? Like I said, I’ll send them on their way if you are not.”

Tsubaki nods dutifully, though she has to keep her knees from trembling at the reminder. “That will not be necessary, Father. They explained the situation very clearly to me, and I...I am confident that I can handle it.”

Sanjuro doesn’t look convinced. But he does not press the point. “Very well. Take the rest of the afternoon to prepare, and you will leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Father.” Tsubaki bows, and then turns to go back inside. She is tired, and hungry, and she needs to pack for the journey. But she needs to clear her mind first. 

The back rooms of the house are smaller and darker than the rest, and more subdued. In one of them lies the memorial shrine to the family now gone. The dark wood and flowers, the small but rich-scented candles, the silence...It’s a comfort to her, and she can think of no better place to reflect and to pray for guidance. She kneels on the cushion before the aged cabinet, bows her head, and closes her eyes. 

There are no pictures on the shelf, not of any of the lost ones, only a scroll with the name ‘Nakatsukasa’ written on it in thick strokes of ink. They are not individuals, not really, at their cores. They are one clan, with one heart and soul, connected by one vast and ancient --

“Tuning in to the Will, are you?”

Tsubaki startles, her eyes flying open. But a moment later, when recognition kicks in, she just sighs. “Nii-san, please don’t do that.”

Masamune, leaning in the doorway beside her, seems not to hear her. “Is it difficult, I wonder? Does it deign to speak with you, who will inherit nothing?”

“I have already inherited plenty, as we both well know,” Tsubaki says levelly. 

“Yes, of course.” Masamune idly fingers the hilt of the katana at his hip; the blade is beautiful, obsidian black and razor sharp, but it is still only a mundane man-made weapon. “But will that be enough? You and I both know that you aren’t on the level of a professional, a warrior, or anything capable of taking on this assignment. You’ve only barely become able to take on Father and I in sparring matches. How do you expect to go out there and successfully take on one of those... _demons?”_

His deliberately bored monotone falters at the last word, where venom and disgust seep in. She knows that she will not be able to convince him this time, either, but that she might as well speak anyway. “Shibusen did not come to us looking to make use of my ability to _fight.”_

“A poor choice on their part, then. Basic as they are, your combat skills are the only thing that you have been able to hone properly. Do they know how little you have actually experienced with universal resonance? Or worse, of your inability to harness the Will of Nakatsukasa?”

Much as she is trying to be the bigger person here, she does bristle a little at that. _Inability, like yours?_ she thinks, and immediately feels a pang of guilt. Instead, she says, “I have thought long and hard about their request, nii-san. I have a strategy in place. I know exactly what I need to do with him.”

“Knowing what to do, and being able to do it and get out alive, are two very different things. You’ll be killed, and then I...” She hears the faint but familiar sound of his fist closing around the hilt of the sword. “I’ll be the one who has to hunt them down and slaughter them all in retribution. What a troublesome thing to make me do.”

She can’t keep back a tiny smile at that. Distant and roundabout and brusque as it is, it’s the closest she’s going to get to an actual expression of brotherly affection, so she supposes she’ll take it. There isn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice when she responds. “You’d go to all that trouble just for me? I’m honored.”

Masamune snorts, unamused. “Spare me the sentimentality. You’re telling me you really think you can win against that thing? How?”

Slowly, Tsubaki takes in a breath, and lets it out. She thinks back to the photos that Shibusen teams had been able to capture of the Star Clan’s heir apparent; like those of a mythical creature, they are few and far between, and almost indecipherably blurry, never able to catch their subject still. But still, one had stood out to her, far more than the images of blood on his sickle blades, or of a face that was part man and part monster. 

Those eyes...She recognizes the shine of desperate determination in those star-bright irises. To one who didn’t know better, they appear bloodthirsty, the eyes of someone so ravenously ambitious that he will tear the world apart to get what he wants. To her, they are the sort of eyes that hide cold, gnawing fear. 

“I will go out to face him,” she says, straightening her back. “And I _will_ reach his soul. Part of him is still human. That part can be guided back to the right path.”

Masamune is silent for a moment before he responds. She would like to think that he is actually considering what she has to say, but...

“You assume too much,” her brother snarls, and the next thing she hears is the swish of his cloak and the heavy footsteps on the wood as he storms away.

Tsubaki can’t hold back another deep sigh. If she cannot convince him, let Masamune think whatever he wants, and when she leaves tomorrow, let her actions speak for themselves. 

Once more, she folds her hands in her lap, closes her eyes, and bows her head to the shrine. The Will of a hundred generations lies within her, just waiting to be tapped into. A mirror, a bridge, into any soul she can connect to...All she needs to do is find the parts of this boy that can still be salvaged, something only she can do. 

She will not fail this mission. She will not fail her family name. But most importantly, she will not fail him.

~0~

It has now been nearly a year since he has begun hunting for souls, and thus far, if Black Star had to sum up his experience in one word, it would be ‘unexpected.’

Well, if not ‘disappointing.’

When he was a child, he had time and time again heard White Star’s theory: a child born of two warriors already halfway to becoming Kishin would surely be superior to any human straight from conception, and furthermore, would transform faster and far more impressively once he began to consume souls. On hearing that her husband was debating whether or not to start feeding their son those souls right away, Swift Star had been quick to add that they must wait until he had been sufficiently trained and his body would have begun to change anyway, so that he would better withstand the transformation...Or, so he has been told, by his grumbling father and jeering clanmates behind his mother’s back.

Well, he has waited, along with the rest of them. And now, here he is, six months after his thrill-filled thirteenth birthday, and he simultaneously feels impossibly different and frustratingly the same. 

He feels the souls’ influence on him, always. Their absorbed power makes him feel like he could jump to the stars in one bound, break a mountain to bits with his bare fists, strangle the life out of God himself. But the damned things _writhe_ under his flesh at night, make his muscles twitch and his skin prickle and sting so painfully he can’t lie still, let alone sleep. All he can think about is how badly he just wants to dig his newly sharp nails in to the bone, and rip it all off, just to make it _stop._

The effort of keeping himself still enough to _not_ do that, thankfully, exhausts him. But it doesn’t help, anyway, when his body finally gives out; he rarely dreamed before, but now his head is filled with sickening visions of the world bathed blood-red, lurid three-eyed creatures that skitter around and shriek with laughter, waves of heavy black sludge filled with wet chunks of _something_ pouring over him while thousands of screams pierce his ears. He wakes up cold and nauseous, more often than not scraping his palms and forearms raw to prove to himself that he’s awake and none of that was real.

(Sometimes, though, he still doesn’t feel quite certain; he’s heard all those screams before, after all.)

Daylight is no better. Black Star can’t remember what it was like to _not_ be constantly on edge, to not walk around in a shaky, static haze. He sees his clanmates, the brothers and sisters who had raised him, and has to struggle to remember why he can’t leap on them and tear their throats out, to get at the swollen souls within. The dark bloody red ones won’t fill and satisfy him like the pure, luscious blue will, he knows. But his mouth is so dry and his throat so sore and his body _aches_ for him to swallow just one more down, that he thinks any soul will do at this point. 

He’s had a few near misses, lately, the evidence of which his eyes linger on as he walks through their makeshift camp, responding to a summons from his father. North Star still lays curled in the grass, nursing a mangled tail. Thunder Star’s once-imposing horn, now broken in half, still hasn’t grown back. Evening Star is helping his sister change the bandages around her upper arm, which is missing a chunk of flesh. 

(It’s that last one that he feels the least regret for; one of his earliest memories is the overexcited twins holding him down to give him his tattoo early, behind his parents’ backs. Attacking Morning Star, at least, felt like fair payback.)

They’re all looking at him as he passes them by, and the feel of their eyes on his skin still drives into him like needles. But somehow, it’s even worse now: there is no respect in those gazes, none of the awe and pride that he sees when they look at White Star. Nor has he been able to elicit so much as a spark of fear. No...It’s the same judgment, the same mockery, the only new thing he can see is the scorn mixed in with everything else.

And he knows why: once again, he’s falling behind them all, he’s not what was wanted. In addition to his newly enhanced speed and strength, he has seen only minute changes in the mirror: a hard sheen and acidic brightness to his green eyes, a serpentine tongue, all of his nails starting to darken and extend into the beginnings of claws. But it’s nowhere near the perfect metamorphosis from human to mad beast that the rest of his family had achieved. It has never caused any of them pain; according to them their ascensions were pleasure beyond pleasure, fast and easy and intoxicating to fall into. 

It should be completely natural to him, it’s already in his blood, how many times has he heard his father say it?! What has he trained for, what has he killed so many people for, what is he going through these nightmares for if not to grant his wish?! And yet he is the only one who has to suffer...Why is he _always the one?!_

He’s so lost in the thoughts boiling in his head, that he doesn’t notice Shooting Star passing by him, until the elder assassin has already stepped a little to the left to knock roughly into him. 

His eyes fly wide open, and he freezes. 

A tiny gesture, in the grand scheme of things, and certainly not one he hasn’t felt before among all his siblings’ constant badgering and roughhousing. But between how he knows -- he _knows!_ \-- that he wouldn’t have felt a thing if he had the flesh he was supposed to have grown by now, armored or spiny or leathery thick, instead of this pathetically thin human skin,, and how his temper was already a frayed string ready to snap...Well. It’s only _natural,_ after the fraction of a second it takes for the impulse to reach his brain, for him to wheel around and throw a punch at the back of Shooting Star’s head as hard as he possibly can.

It’s only when his brother spins around just as fast, forearm already a gun barrel, and launches a spray of gleaming gold bullets at his legs that he realizes that maybe another second of thought would have been helpful. Reflexively, he flips back out of the way, his own arm transforming into a blade without his conscious thought. When the bullets stop tearing up the grass and dirt between them an instant later, he looks up and sees the malicious glint in Shooting Star’s opaque grey eyes, and his teeth bare in rage. 

“The fuck is your problem, Shooter?!” he snarls. “What, do you wanna _fight?”_

Shooting Star grins wide, and his head lolls to the side on an abnormally long neck. It’s the same look he gives every time he thinks Black Star has said something so stupid and childish it’s funny. “It looks to me like _you_ do, brat,” he says, gesturing with his clawed hand to the camp at large. “Are you starting to think that you’re better than us? That you can do what you want? You’ve barely begun to hatch into your new form, but here you are thinking yourself head of the clan already.”

Black Star feels a vein in his head start to throb. This _again?!_ Hasn’t he proven himself yet?

The clan has not moved. Like wolves, they go still and alert, waiting and watching. They’re always watching, they’ve always been, as he shakes and sweats under those stares that pierce right through him and down to his soul, there is nothing he can hide from them, all this time they’ve just been watching and waiting for him to fall, so they can laugh, and then they’ll -- !

“You’re clearly not what was intended in White Star’s little experiment,” Shooting Star is continuing, and it takes Black Star a moment to realize that it’s him speaking and not his own thoughts still beating him over the head. “So I’ve been wondering, why don’t we just eat that pathetic soul you can’t strengthen, and then try again with a better kid?”

The clan hisses and mutters at that, but Black Star can’t hear it over the shrill ringing in his ears. His vision goes fiery scarlet, his heart skips a beat -- how _dare_ his brother say that, and how dare the rest of them _agree!_ He’s bigger and better than all of them, how can they always make him feel so _small?!_

He moves without thinking, letting out a feral roar and charging at Shooting Star like a raging bull. His brother darts forward to meet him, so fast he’s just a dark blur. He’ll kill him, he’ll kill him, he’ll rip his body apart and devour his rotten soul, he can show them how strong he really is, his siblings and father all. They won’t just respect their prince, he will teach them to _fear a man greater than their god -- !_

But no sooner has he flung his sickle blade out to meet Shooting Star’s cocked barrel, then a flash of blue and silver comes between them. A hard, steel-soled boot collides with his chest and sends him flying right back where he started. He rolls once, then manages to get back on his feet, just in time to see blood fly from Shooting Star’s face, and drip off the edge of a long, curved blade. And at the end of that blade...

He snorts, the fleshy stump of his blade-arm twitching. “Hey, Ma. How long were _you_ watching?” Far from being grateful for his shield, he’s just annoyed that he’s being barred from slaking his bloodlust. After all, it’s not as if he can plow through his own mother, to give his brother what he deserves. 

Swift Star keeps her back to her son, but glances over her shoulder to address him. Her eyes are sharp as her blade, hard and cold as ice, and her ears lie flat against her head like those of an angry horse. “Long enough to know that you aren’t following orders. Last I checked, your father had a far more fruitful target in mind for you, and if you were where you were supposed to be, you would already be on your way to fight _them.”_

He grits his teeth. “I was _going._ Not my fault he - ”

“Yes, and _you,”_ Swift Star cuts him off, turning back to face Shooting Star, who is clutching the gash over his nose and glaring murder at her. She appears even more unimpressed than usual. “I thought you were capable of occupying your time with more than petty taunting and picking pointless fights. Who is the adult here and who is the child, I can’t seem to tell?”

Shooting Star looks utterly disgusted at the words -- _ah, vindication,_ part of him thinks. The other part can’t stop himself from snarling, “I didn’t need you to do any of that. I could have -- ”

Swift Star’s head spins back around so fast he swears he can hear something crack. “Shut your mouth and go to your father!” she snaps, startling him into silence. “I’ll deal with you later. He’s not the only one who should know better.”

Crap. He’s actually pissed her off. Now there’s a rare feat, accomplished only a handful of times in his life. Another growl, like a mastiff’s, rises in his throat, but for once he decides to listen to the little voice in the back of his head that tells him it’s not worth it. So he tears himself away and storms off across the grass, back on the path to his father’s tent. As he goes, he can hear Shooting Star hissing something under his breath, and his mother shouting over him, “What should that matter to you?! We all know our place in the clan by now; or, at least, that was my assumption. Must I teach you yours again?”

It registers with Black Star that the clan in question had quickly and quietly vanished, as soon as Swift Star came onto the scene to restore order. He’s sure they would have gone even faster, had it been White Star instead. He clenches his fists, both human now. One day, he won’t need anyone to protect him, nor will anyone be able to stop him from doing as he pleases. That day, they will give him the fear and respect that is his _right._

He doesn’t announce himself as he pushes open the flap to his father’s tent, just goes down on one knee on the thin fabric floor: back bowed, but head up, eyes forward. White Star sits at the low, flat table on the other side of the tent, and even with the dirty breakfast dishes in front of him and holey old cushion underneath him, the assassin still holds himself as if he were observing his heir from a great throne. Maybe someday, when they’ve gotten Shibusen out of their way, they can make that a reality; he’d like to have an actual castle and throne to inherit if the old man ever kicks it. 

Only White Star’s eyes, the same shimmering green as his own, are visible. He notices the blood running down his son’s bullet-grazed legs, his mussed-up hair, and what he’s certain is the murderous glower on his face, and chuckles. “What happened to you, then?”

He tries for his usual cocky grin, but can’t quite pull it off genuinely. “Had to teach Shooter a lesson. Would have, too, if Ma hadn’t stepped in.”

“Yes, I just bet you would have.” If the crinkles around his eyes are to be believed, White Star is saying it genuinely. “Unfortunately, you’re not as lucky as I was at your age: we can’t have you killing your brothers and sisters just because they annoy you. You be grateful to your mother for hanging around in the shadows so she can keep everyone in line, understand?”

He resists the urge to snort derisively again. They’re his clan, his birthright, and he’ll do whatever he has to to make them understand that. But all he says is, “Yeah, I am.”

“In any case, I’ve found a special target just for you,” White Star says, drawing himself up proudly. “You ever hear of the Nakatsukasa clan?”

“Nakatsu...kasa?” he echoes, tongue unsteady on the unfamiliar name. “No. Who are they?”

“Well, that’s just the thing. They apparently have some amazing ability that passes down their bloodline, and gives them some incredibly powerful souls. The problem is, they’ve been shutting themselves away for the past few hundred years, with no weapon partners, and so nobody knows what exactly it is that they do.” He can hear a series of wet, hungry noises coming from under his father’s mask, whose cloth is jostled by the movements of his tongue. “Perhaps it’s because they know what rare delicacies they are, and are simply trying to hide it from us.”

He smirks. “How selfish. So you’re sending me out to kill them, may the better clan win?”

“Not quite. It’s tough enough to track Shibusen’s movements to keep them off our tails, but this time we did get an extra piece of information: the new teams they’ve sent after us brought along one of them. A little girl, about your age. Looks like a sweet little snack, from what Lucky Star said.”

“And she’s mine?”

“Exactly. Kill her, take her soul, and see if you can’t figure out what makes the Nakatsukasa clan so -- ”

“Magically delicious?”

“Shut up, boy. Valuable. _Powerful._ Here...” He picks up a folded paper from the floor and hands them over to Black Star, who opens it to find a map, with instructions and coordinates drawn on them in red pen. “Get out of here, think of more words on the way, and don’t come back without a soul in your belly and some useful intel in your head. She should be around the base of the mountains over west, so just pack the essentials. I assume you can take care of yourself from here?”

“Got it. Count on me, old man!” Black Star rises from the floor with a smaller but more genuine smile on his face, and the beginnings of a new spring in his step. 

He looks at the map, at the target drawn on it, and licks his lips. He’s never been giving a special assignment before, he realizes as he moves to go back outside, nor do his clanmates usually get sent out alone. They move in a pack, after all. White Star...He’s the only one trying to cement his rightful place at the head of the clan, instead of pushing him away from it. The rest of the clan doesn’t matter, so long as his father trusts him --

But he’s just one step from leaving when White Star opens his mouth again and rips his fragile new facade away. “Who knows? Maybe a soul like this will finally get you strong enough to keep up with the rest of the clan.”

Black Star stops short. He can’t move, doesn’t dare look back at his father. “Wh...What’s that, Dad?”

“You’ve noticed, too, haven’t you? You’ve acted just like a human all your life, even with your mother’s and my Kishin blood. I thought you’d start matching the rest of us, now you’ve finally started to strengthen your body and soul. But I guess I was hoping for too much. Or, at least, too much, too soon. You’re meant to be exactly like the rest of us now...I don’t understand it. Your body _should_ be kicking into high gear even faster than any of ours did, once you’ve started to give it what it really needs, but it’s still all stunted. So slow. What in the _hell_ could you be missing?”

His heart beats a violent staccato against his chest, that pounds in his ears. He wants to speak, but what can he say? All he can do is force himself not to start trembling, not in front of his _father,_ who already thinks him as weak as everyone else, after all. 

The eyes are burning into his back once more, and he can picture the glare on White Star’s face as he continues, sternly, “What’s the matter with you, boy? You’re like a rabbit staring down a dog all of a sudden. You think I’m wrong?”

“N-No. Sorry, I was just...thinking about something else.” It’s not a lie, he’s not lying to his father’s face; what hasn’t he been thinking about since his failed transformation began?

“Battle strategy, I hope. You never know what kind of tricks Shinigami’s dogs will pull on you, believe me. You watch yourself out there, boy.”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll see you!”

Black Star can’t get out of there fast enough. Hell, he can’t get away from this whole damn place fast enough; he forgoes packing anything or speaking to anyone in favor of sprinting as hard as he can out of the camp and down the steep paths between the towering peaks. The momentary calm that had started to hold him isn’t just distant and broken, it was a fantasy from the beginning, he thinks as that red, vicious fury sinks its claws into him again and spurs him on even faster. 

_Child. Stunted. Slow. Pathetic. Not what was intended._

All his life given to his family, to the pursuit of ultimate power, and this is what he measures up to.

He gnashes his teeth -- sharp, yes, but still so small -- harshly together, and has to force himself to imagine the meister’s soul chewed to juicy pieces between them instead of his brothers’, his sisters’...his father. What kind of power would the soul of a man who fashions himself as a warrior god grant him? It doesn’t matter. He’ll face the girl, take her soul, and then come back and decide what to do with _his_ clan. 

His blade, at least, is still sharper than ever.

~0~

Tsubaki has never been this far south before. The Shibusen teams that had escorted her from her home that morning had taken her across Honshu and and up to the edge of the mountain range. According to their information, the Star Clan is taking a break between slaughters somewhere up in the Japanese Alps, the rumors of their presence sending much of the nearby cities’ populations fleeing for safer ground until they’ve gone away. The gist of the plan is that, while they take care of the adults head-on, as both a distraction and a legitimate extermination mission, she will enter their territory undetected and engage the boy alone. 

Hesitantly, she had pointed out to them that none of the weapons or meisters that had challenged the clan of Kishin thus far had survived. Were they sure of what they were doing? All twelve of them, only a few years older than she, had grinned confidently and told her yes, absolutely. It had been difficult at first for her to return the gesture, unable to ignore the lingering shadow of fear behind their eyes, until a stout-looking crossbow rested on the shoulder of her meister countered, “Are _you_ sure you’re ready for this? I mean, you with no weapon partner and all, that’s...”

At that, she had been able to brighten and stand up straight and proud, if only for a moment. “I would love to have a partner, but I don’t necessarily need one. My clan’s abilities can be wielded just as effectively, and I’ve trained solo my whole life.”

The students seemed to find this satisfactory, and so with that, they had gone one way and Tsubaki the other. And now here she is, slinking through the thickly forested valley between two wide and jagged slopes with every sense in her body on high alert. Shinigami’s plan had been bare-bones, but very clear. She is to follow the path straight through the valley, then turn eastward and find the Star Clan encampment. From there, she will locate the youngest member, lure him away from the fray, and...

She feels the familiar ripple under her skin, through her forearms and into her palms, right down to the tingling tips of her fingers. She will not be afraid, she tells herself firmly. The power of her ancestors will not fail to find his soul and let her bond to it. According to Shinigami, the adults of the family were as good as full Kishin after the years they had dedicated to continent-wide killing sprees and soul hunts, but the boy still retained some of his humanity. It was, by the god’s own admission, not something he had considered before, but he was interested in the possible effects a Nakatsukasa meister’s abilities could have on one not yet fully corrupted. In any case, all the souls he had consumed would need to be laid to rest, and he had been wondering if willing purification was a viable option.

Little more than an experiment, Tsubaki had known from the start. But that didn’t matter one bit. Her Soul Force, universal resonance capabilities, and above all, the Will that would lay anyone’s soul bare to her and hers to them...If she could use them to bring just this one person to the side of peace, then she will become a worthy heir to her clan’s legacy.

The thick bulletproof vest and sleeves tucked under her shirt all feel far heavier on her body than they should, though in this environment she’s at least grateful for the slight warmth they provide. They aren’t going anywhere near truly treacherous heights, but the higher she climbs the colder it gets --

Wait.

Tsubaki stops, hand raising and hovering in the air. Her gut instincts are rarely wrong, and they tell her now that that chill down her neck just now was not from the cold. She listens hard: only the rattle of the leaves in the wind, there is no birdsong or animal chatter in this place, where a pack of demonic predators lurk. She looks all around her, into every shadow, none of which reveal a thing. A tiny part of her suggests that she was mistaken, but no, she _knows_ something is wrong.

_There!_

A blur of clanging metal starts to shoot down at her from the branches above, but she is faster; the second she hears it, she darts to the tree and slams a Soul Force into the base that crashes straight through it, sending the whole thing swaying and pitching to the ground with a moan. Her assailant, in lieu of moving to another tree, jumps down to the ground to avoid dropping with it, and there she gets her first clear glimpse of her target. It’s impossible that he could be anyone else.

But, as startling as the sight is, it gives her renewed hopes for success. For the heir apparent to the most notorious clan of monsters in the world, Black Star looks...shockingly human, aside from the long tongue hanging from his sharp-toothed mouth. The star birthmarks on his irises prevent her from seeing what color they are, though, and give them a hauntingly blank and empty look. He is the first to speak, as she assumes her stance and holds her arms out defensively in front of her.

“So!” he shouts as if onstage, attempting to dramatically wave one of his sickle-arms. “You’re the Nakatsukasa girl, aren’t you? You didn’t even come with a weapon, so you must be _real_ confident that your soul is stronger than mine, aren’t you?”

Well, yes, she is. But she did not come for a competition. She opens her mouth to respond some other way, but he’s still railing on.

“Of course you are. You’ve got a lot of guts, coming alone to challenge the might of the Star Clan!”

At that, the tiny smile that comes onto her face surprises even her. “Actually, I came for _you._ Black Star’s your name, right?”

For a second, the boy looks completely taken aback at being singled out. Then that vanishes under a loud laugh and too-wide grin. “That’s right! You’re looking at the one and only Black Star, the man who will surpass God! The brightest star in all the clan!”

Her smile fades just as quickly as it had come. “Black Star, I didn’t come for a fight. Your clan will only lead you to destruction, but there’s still hope for you to survive. My soul’s power can help you.”

That too brings him up short, a clear, disdainful _What are you playing at?_ written all over his face. His tongue snakes out to lick his lips. “Yeah. It sure will.”

He charges at her again, kusarigama blades flying. It’s nothing she can’t handle. Discounting her Soul Force, which will send him flying into orbit with a broken ribcage if she chooses to use it that way, Black Star is physically stronger, and one hit from those vicious blades will ruin her. But she is faster, more agile, and as he chases her through the trees, she slips out of their way or knocks them aside with the aid of heavy gloves and the wavelength crackling in her palms. So long as she keeps her head, there’s no chance that he’ll even come close to hitting her. 

The thought has clearly dawned on him, too, as his mouth twists in rage. “Why would you come to me if you’re too spineless to fight?! Are you just offering up your soul to me on a silver platter?!”

She doesn’t respond, barely hears him. Her eyes are on his bare skin. All she needs to do is touch it...And for that, all she needs to do is wait for an opening. 

Black Star grits his teeth, bristling at being ignored. “I guess you _are,_ then!”

He charges, swings, again and again; over and over they go through the forest this way until they break through the trees into the high noon sunlight, into a clearing of loose earth and tall grass. For a fraction of a second, the brilliant rays turn her vision white, and it takes only that second of blind hesitance for the kusarigama’s chains to wrap themselves around her, pinning her arms to her sides while the blades slice into her shoulders, and roughly jerk her forward. A thrill of terror runs through her, but it only moves her faster, she wrenches her hand up and grabs onto the chain. It’s as good as skin, her wavelength will still travel into it.

_Let our souls reach you!_

Black Star’s body goes slack and his eyes stretch wide. He feels the girl’s hand on his as one would feel a warm breeze; his mind and senses are overwhelmed by something else now. He's half in the real world and half in a dream, wide and blue and warm as summer. A great horned creature towers above him, with sharp golden eyes that pierce straight into his soul like spears:

_You bolt down the path of the demon with fire at your heels -_

He transforms back, staggering backward like a spooked horse, to make her let him go. Sweat is running in rivulets down his face, and he's panting like he's just sprinted around the country. That thing, that had just torn his brain and soul apart...!

“Nakatsukasa! What the almighty _fuck_ was that?!”

The girl is silent, taking her attack stance again and waiting for another chance to strike. Long black marks run serpentine across her face and body. She meets his glare head-on, with eyes that are dark and cool and calming. She doesn't need to say anything and she knows it. Her voice had been in his head, too, coming in a soft but overwhelming wave. 

_You don’t know where you’re going, do you? Which path you really want? If you’re lost, we can help._

There’s no rage or hatred in her face, not even a little. She’s waiting for a response, and he gets the feeling that the spoken kind isn’t what this one’s looking for. Fine, then, he’ll play her game: fight her long enough to see how this trick works, then rip out her soul and take it for himself. He raises his fists in the same stance as hers; for some reason he doesn’t think he’ll need his blades again just yet, and if they’re in close combat, he can bust them out on her any time he wants.

“You want to speak the language of warriors? All right. Let’s go.”

She gives a little nod, as if they are friends having a practice bout, and rushes him. He has to admit, when they clash in a flurry of strikes and kicks, she’s better at this than all her hopping around to avoid him had led him to expect. She matches him blow for blow, as he does hers, but it’s all he can do to keep his concentration on the fight when every touch of skin to skin sends a world of information through their heads. 

_You’re trying to turn yourself into a monster. Why?_

_Humans are weak, I’m making myself strong. All there is to it._

_And what will you have left once you do? What point do you see in it?_

_My clan. I’m going to be leader, we’ll own the world. I’m going to be the best of all of them._

The boy is thinking of his clan, their legacy, of how they got all the souls roiling under their skin, and instantly his memories of gore and slaughter surge into Tsubaki’s head. Reflexively, she flinches at them, brutality she’s never imagined, and he smirks. He’s caught on quick what she must do, and keeps them coming.

_A fire raging through a village, a heavy blade burying itself into spines and chests, a soft, fat, gluey soul making its way down the throat -_

The girl lets out a whimper, and Black Star is fully prepared to start digging for what he’s seen his _parents_ do, next, but the stupid deer thing pokes its antlers into their bout again.

_You accept a life with no choice. You follow where you’re led. Those who hold your leash will drag to your death, and they will not care when you fall._

_An eight-limbed Kishin loses four arms, four legs, and its head in three strokes of a sword-meister’s blade; spiny, spindly twins with bulbous pink eyes are shot to pieces by glowing soul bullets; a wolfman’s sky-shaking battle roar is cut off by the masked, black-cloaked Shinigami himself, as a scythe blade bigger than his own body cleaves him to pieces._

_Do you see the fate they will drive you to? No matter how many souls you take, you will never become invincible. No demon nor warrior nor even the gods ever can. But the end of the path of the demon is always the same._

The girl’s voice comes in under it, with a voice like a cooling stream where the beast’s is a raging river. _The power you crave isn’t worth the pain that will come with it. And you’ll get no relief from_ them. _What do they do, when they see you struggle or hurt?_

He lets out a guttural snarl and doubles down on his attacks. Logically, the best way to escape this interrogation is to run away, but he has never done that -- 

_That’s a lie. You were afraid once, and you were punished for it._

_He’s so small, and they’re so big, and it_ hurts so bad, _he’s sorry, he’s sorry, I’m sorry - !_

He almost trips over his own feet, another thing he hasn’t done since he was small. He forces his immediate thoughts down, it’s not too hard to send some intentionally. _Wh...What does that matter?! I didn’t know better and I learned my lesson! What’s wrong with that?!_

He looks up expecting to see pity in the girl’s eyes, expecting to hate her for it, but instead seeing a cold, steely anger there instead...the kind he recognizes from within himself. _You didn’t deserve it. You don’t show love like that. What have they done for you, besides hurt you?_

The words are quiet, but resolute, and they break the dam of rage and bitterness that he has been trying so hard all day -- all his _life_ \-- to keep intact so he doesn’t lose his mind. 

_Too weak, too slow, too small, running to keep up. Huge fists and legs slam into his body, a tapestry of purple and blue, yellow and green on his skin. It's not all from his clan, he doesn't know how to kill in one hit yet and their victims thrash and fight...but it's enough, in the middle of the circle of wolves. Blood runs over his body, he can't tell how much is his own._

_His mother's eyes are sharp ice, her hands are not cruel but never have they been tender. His brothers and sisters jostle and sneer and cackle, kick and claw and shoot. His father watches his every move, always, judge, jury, and executioner, pushing him on and on and never letting him stop, letting him live with a sword over his neck ready to fall should he finally prove himself a failure, what kind of son is he if he’s so very easily replaceable --_

_Is the path of the demon truly so fruitful, that it is worth all of this?_

_“Enough!”_ he roars, unsure of whether he’s saying it out loud or trying to blast it into the girl’s head. It slows her just a fraction, for just a second, and though he tries she’s still fast enough to block the kick meant to knock her head off. “What about you?! Is your clan so perfect that you can barge into my head to tell me how shit my life is?!”

Tsubaki shakes her head. She can’t paint a rose-colored picture of the future that awaits him if he accepts her, because one doesn’t exist. The Will of Nakatsukasa can only tell the truth. So when her hand flashes out to palm Black Star’s forehead, that is what pours into him. 

_Her brother’s eyes on her are always dark with resentment, she can’t remember back to the days when they were soft and kind. His blade is beautiful and cruel and relentless in her training, it has drawn blood from her face, arms, and legs countless times over. She has felt its touch far more often than she has felt any from loving hands. And yet the wounds fade within days, never deep enough to scar, and while his voice is rough the words are always true._

_Her father is a stern trainer; the only times their sparring matches stop before her legs are too weak to hold her up and her stomach is churning is when he knows she is going to face something even more taxing tomorrow. Second-born, she’ll never be heir, but her powers will be honed to perfection if she is ever to face life outside of their home. It isn’t enough to shield her, he must teach her to shield herself, and every time they trade blows she feels all the fear, pride, and love in his heart, for his clan and his children alike._

_Her mother keeps to herself, largely, soft-handed and soft-voiced; but she is a well of knowledge more vast than anyone else in the family, and she hangs on the older woman’s every word. Her father uses his own soul’s power as easily as any weapon, but it is her mother who best understands what it means to be a soul who bears the Will of the clan. And the Will itself -- a creature neither benevolent nor cruel, who puts the weight of a thousand generations on her shoulders, who overwhelms and passes judgment, whose eyes burn into her heart, always -- !_

The hand lifts. The girl retreats. Those black lines still marking her face, and her blue eyes shine bright next to them. They are locked squarely on him, but they don’t hate, they don’t resent, they don’t judge. He registers that he is on his knees, looking up, transfixed by those eyes and the pure soul that lies behind them. His hands shake, and he doesn’t try to stop them. The only thing he can physically focus on right now is working through all of... _that._

It was instinct that had warned Tsubaki that she needed to attack first, and now it is that same instinct that tells her it’s safe to step back and to wait, albeit cautiously. His eyes are a brilliant green, she can see now, and full of astonishment and disbelief. She has shared with the weapon everything she has and everything she is, now all she can do is offer to let him into her world for good. 

“You don’t want to die, Black Star. Not like the rest of them.” _You fear death and obscurity, you fear them very much,_ she could continue -- as the Will surely would -- but it would be wrong to needle him when she’s trying to calm. “You want to live, and be happy with who you are. This life is going to kill you, sooner or later. Come back with me. I can’t do everything on my own, but I want to help you.”

He swallows. She isn’t lying. He felt it himself: her memories of her mission, her determination and compassion, her faith in what her powers could do. Such feelings are entirely foreign to him. Go with her? Someone like him? Set for death or not, he can’t do anything else with his life. But even so, he can’t seem to summon back the urge to transform and finish the fight, as ordered. 

“How?” He can’t remember his voice ever being that quiet. “If my life really is such a trap, what will you do to get me out of it? Provided I go with you to your god, and he lets me walk away alive after turning me human again or whatever. What am I to you _then?”_

Tsubaki smiles, and offers him her hand. Her wavelength still tingles under her palms, but she doubts she’ll need to use it again. “I’ll show you. Try resonating with me again. It’s the deepest way to understand somebody; if you want answers, you’ll find them there.”

“Nakatsukasa -- ”

“Tsubaki.”

“...I never had a meister before.” The voices of his parents and siblings are in his head, snarling that he is weak, that he needs no one other than himself. But they are muted, smothered, by his new curiosity. Their eyes burn into his soul even from so far away, but the meister’s gaze sends a feeling he has never known before and cannot name washing over him.

“And I never had a weapon. Much less one like you,” Tsubaki replies. The voice of the Will is silent within her; it allows her to make her own judgment. “I’d like very much to know what it’s like, and what we can do connected. But, the choice is yours.”

No one has ever said that to him before, he realizes. He takes in a deep, slow breath, and lets it out, shaking and ragged. Full-body transformation isn’t something he’s done before -- no need of it -- but he thinks he can try. He looks at the extended hand for a long, long moment. 

_All right. All right. You want to make me better than my clan? Make the screams in my head and the claws in my gut go away? Let’s see. Let’s go._

“Fine.” 

Black Star reaches up and takes her hand, letting her close her fingers around his and pull him up from the ground. He’s surprised at how well they fit together. With one last look at the girl’s face, now positively beaming, he closes his eyes, and wills himself to transform fully into his kusarigama. It’s jarring at first; he has no sense of what is up or down, and twitching metal parts instead of moving flesh feels downright unnatural.

_I’ve known weapons who say that once they get the hang of it, it’s the most natural thing in the world. Not just transformation, but resonance, too._

Her voice in his head is no longer unwelcome. Though she doesn’t hold his blades with the confidence of a master, her grip feels so safe that it doesn’t matter. He can feel the beat of their souls like a pulse all around them, binding them...uniting them. This, certainly, is a sort of strength he has never felt before. Certainly, it’s not one that his clan has ever known, or would have ever had him know.

_Is that right? Then show me...Tsubaki._


End file.
